


When Tony...

by AuntieEm30



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Parent Tony Stark, Rhodey didn't get injured in this one because I say so, abuse of parentheses, decent sentence length what's that, fluff / minor angst / h/c, please forgive shitty google-Italian, shameless fusion of pop culture phrases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14196441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntieEm30/pseuds/AuntieEm30
Summary: Tony's internal journey to becoming Peter's unspoken Dad.  He got emotionally sucker-punched.  It's ok, he's fine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [With Great Care](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13008744) by [Giggles96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giggles96/pseuds/Giggles96). 



> Inspired by the listed fic, but not connected to it plot-wise. One-shot, unbetaed.

Tony had been just fine for most of his life with not having kids. In his twenties and early thirties he genuinely had no wish for them, and then after Afghanistan, after the beginning of Iron Man, he couldn’t fathom bringing a kid into his life. The occasional bouts of wistful questioning, which really only happened when he’d been together with Pepper, were swiftly pushed down and locked away, eventually forgotten.

He didn’t have to worry about being like Howard in that regard - one weakness, one flaw out of all of them that for once he wouldn’t have to live with. By the time the fallout from Ultron had hit its peak with those damn Accords, he was simply tired - always tired, and honestly feeling a bit slimy from cooperating with fucking Ross, and when Steve jumped to the assumption that he and Pepper were expecting, despite the slightly bitter reminder (on both counts), he knew it was for the best, especially with all the uncertainties of the present.

He’d long accepted never being a father - one category of fears he’d never have to contend with.

Then he’d just had to seek one more person to round out his rogue-round-up team, already knowing who to approach. He’d just had to go to Peter Parker’s tiny apartment with his aunt. He’d just had to make sure the kid was on the level by asking him his motivation for being a heroic boy wonder.

He’d looked into those wide brown eyes, and listened to that quiet resolve to simply protect people, and brought him into a world of warring heroes, and nearly gotten him seriously injured. And watched him joyously video-log their journey, face full of hope and gratitude.

And in ultimately short order, his heart had reared its idiotic head and maniacally crowed, “PSYKE! Bitch, you thought you dodged that bullet?! Sucks to suck!” 

(As the hip young people would say.) 

He kind of hated his busted, stupid heart.

********

He honestly hadn’t quite realized it was really gaining strength when it was. But isn’t that how it always goes? It’s like picking up a habit - you don’t realize there’s a problem after just a few days of a drink here, two there. It sneaks up on you. He thought because he was letting go of one habit, he was safe from others. Right.

It was relatively early in Peter’s “internship,” now a proper working mentorship, not his moronic former radio silence, thank you very much. The kid had already been halfway through his patrol when it started down-pouring, and he realized that his “sticking” ability, and the suit’s, were a bit compromised in such heavy rain (dumbass design flaw, Stark, he thought to himself), and had swung his way to the tower slower than usual, from extra caution at Tony’s insistence. 

It was before he’d started accidentally leaving the occasional hoodie or spare t-shirt behind from the upgrade / tinkering nights (with the occasional movie), so Tony sent him to dry off in the bathroom and dug some warm old clothing out for him, not really paying attention to what he grabbed. And when he saw Peter in his living room a few minutes later - wide-eyed, so young, bedraggled-puppy Peter wearing one of his old MIT hoodies, well… he’d be lying if he claimed he didn’t feel the stirring of a pleasant warmth in his chest. But it wasn’t like it meant anything, he was just glad to be reminded that Peter was smart enough to get the best education, obviously. And when he was putting on a movie and making them popcorn, he felt the rousing of a quiet, jaded thought.

Be careful, it said. Remember to protect yourself.

And like always when it really mattered, Tony didn’t listen.

********

Their conversations gradually become less strictly-business, their banter and personal trivia-sharing more open. Plans for the future were revealed to be tenuous at best and non-existent at worse, on the kid’s part - loathe though he was to disclose it, even with scholarships a quality college might not be feasible. 

When Tony suddenly sat up straight at his desk one day, realizing he’d been casually setting up a separate college fund account, he wondered if he might be in trouble. But he finished setting it up anyway.

When he watched the kid finish a training session with Rhodey, the most improved yet, and put an arm around the kid’s shoulders feeling so proud his face might split from the strength of his smile, that quiet thought from before told him he was now definitely in trouble. He pushed it down.

When he’d dared to press a gentle kiss to the top of his underoos’s head for the first time (the semi-regular hugs had been acknowledged for what they were for over a month now), he knew he was on a fast track to deeper, stronger trouble, with little-to-no chance of escaping it. But he realized he didn’t actually want to.

When he’d deposited his spiderling in one of the spare rooms (mentally dubbed ‘Peter’s Room’) after patching him up from a particularly rough patrol, and the kid went out like a light almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, he unthinkingly brushed the hair out of Peter’s face with a tender hand. And when “Sogni d’oro, tesoro” just quietly slipped out, his heart clenched painfully and his mother’s voice in his head told him that he was far past the point of no return. That there was no chance of protecting himself now. 'Sweet dreams, sweetheart,' sneaking its way up from soft, distant memories. A kiss brushed across the forehead so pure and so loving it felt holy. He accepted it, and passed it down to... to his son, because there was no point in calling him anything but what he was to Tony now, and because he couldn’t bear the thought of even trying to go back.

Two nights after Peter finally admitted what happened on the night he defeated the Vulture, when Tony had his first nightmare of Peter dying, and woke up crying and gasping for breath, his irrational mind screaming at him to call Peter, to text him, to make sure he was ok... When that happened, he finally understood that he was completely, royally screwed.  
He spent the rest of the night white-knuckling his pillow and wrestling with the fear he thought he’d never have to feel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You asked for it and now you got it: continuation / expansion of Ch.1, now with 50% more happy internal fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since you guys asked so nicely and left such lovely comments, I decided to see if there was more I could do with this little slice of fiction (before I have to focus back on school), and was surprised to realize there was, so thanks for that!
> 
> Estimate that most of this takes place roughly halfway through the last section in ch.1: after Tony has started really strengthening his relationship with Peter, but just before he realizes just how far gone he is.

In spite of the brand-spanking new breed of anxiety this whole pare- (sigh) mentoring thing had dumped on him, there was one thing Tony really didn’t follow. When he cared to listen to chatter, he’d heard off-hand from some people about how much of a drain their kids were on their health and well-being. That couples without kids were actually happier. Sure, most of the time it had come from a lame-ass board member, but sometimes from other people outside the company that he happened to encounter as well.

He didn’t understand why that would be the case. If anything, he was healthier since Peter had been around. Maintaining a certain level of fear of the wrath of his aunt, Tony made sure to put in a substantial effort to not give her a reason to think he had a bad impact on her kid. In doing so, he’d unconsciously put a similar effort in for himself (to set a good example, of course). Plying the teen with moderately healthy sustenance (most of the time) gave him a reason to eat better and more regularly. Shooing him out of the lab and off to bed at a reasonable hour often gave him the idea: hey, I could just hit the hay now myself, and see what happens. And many times, it helped.

(He realized eventually that he may have to take matters of financial stability and work / home life balance into account on this.) But hell, even his left arm and chest weren’t aching so much lately, which he’d honestly thought would never happen at this point.

In spite of the fracturing of the Avengers (and the personal shit Rogers had pulled), in spite of the all the mire he’d had to trudge through with the Accords (which he slowly started to realized he was somewhat responsible for), in spite of not being with Pepper for the time being, in spite of semi-regularly being really frustrated with Peter’s recklessness and stubbornness, mostly as Spider-Man (they were making progress, though), in spite of that awful new fear he felt slowly growing, and all its lesser offshoots…

He was happier than he’d been in a long time. 

Which frankly stumped him, but he wasn’t going to make a fuss over the sheer bizarreness of it.

At the time their mentorship was starting to build, he couldn’t even identify what had made him keep inviting the kid back to the still-unsold tower (besides the sense of guilt about how he’d left the kid hanging all those earlier months). What had made him look for more and more reasons to text the young hero, and simply want to spend more time with him? Yes, the kid was industrious, and kind, and so damn smart, and creative… But surely he had his limits for hanging out with even great people like that, before he had to tap out and tinker alone for a while? But it didn’t seem to be much of the case with Peter.

As the great scientist, philosopher and diplomat Spock, son of Sarek once said: “Logic cannot explain why; I only know that I must pursue this.”

(What? Shut up, Happy, he can be a geek if he damn well pleases.)

And the kicker was, he’d thought the window for this sort of thing had already passed him by. It was funny. While he acknowledged that it probably would have helped level him out in a way he really needed a few years ago, he found that he had no need for the skin-to-skin cradling of an infant of his blood now. Simple hugs from Peter took care of regularly dumping Oxytocin through his brain just fine (that was the reason he had for how damn sappy he sometimes felt around the kid, and he was sticking to it).

And now… now, he didn’t know what he’d do without it.

There had been times when he’d truly worried he would have to, though. Out of the blue a few months post-Vulture, when he and Peter had started spending more time together outside of his work and the kid’s school and patrolling, he’d been hit in the gut with a terrible feeling of guilt, and worry. He could hardly make sense of it. Wrestling with it for a few days until a night he knew May usually got home before Peter, he called her - which she’d expressed understandable concern over at first. After assuring her that there was no emergency and Peter had been fine the last time they spoke via text (that morning), he’d then had to struggle to eventually get out the question of whether or not she feared he was trying to poach Peter away from her; if she wanted him to back off a little.

After a few moments of stunned silence (in which his heart had been beating way faster than a fricking phone call warranted), she took a deep breath and replied.

“Tony, I’ll always be his aunt. I’ll always be the closest I can be to being his mom, without disrespecting the memory of her. He’ll aways be able to come to me, and there are just some things I think he’ll always need me for, to a point. I love him, and he loves me, and I make sure we both know that’s not gonna change. 

“I appreciate you asking, but no, I don’t think you’re trying to steal him from me, and I don’t think you need to back off. If that changes, if I feel that he’s being stretched too thin, I’ll make sure to let you know. I think I can see why you’d worry about me thinking that. But Tony, try to remember that he wouldn’t have gotten so attached to you if… if he hadn’t subconsciously recognized in you something he really needed. And I can promise you it’s not money or prestige or tech.” 

He’d hung up the phone after that conversation feeling like he could fly to the moon effortlessly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We now reach my peak sentimental madness. Come join me in feels Hell. (y'all lovely people drove me to this, just so you know)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTICE: this chapter briefly goes a tad dark; there's a brief implied reference to sexual exploitation of minors/ young adults. It's not actually connected to any of our characters, and not overt enough to change the rating.
> 
> In the second part of this, I've literally descended into sort-of song fic territory. Ye be warned.
> 
> On that note, the composer and arrangement I focus on are both real, the piece is pretty much my favorite choral piece of all time, and was the background music inspiration for all the IronDad SpiderSon feels I've been churning out like a maniac over the last three days. So there's that. If you really want to experience it and join me in feels hell, pull up the link in a separate window and start playing it at the in-text *.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPuTCq7cn1k

It was a memorable, maddening, and by Happy’s standards, surprisingly sentimental text he’d received from his bodyguard-turned-driver one afternoon, while he was en-route after having picked the teen up from school on one of their regular days.

‘Some jackass at school broke the kid’s phone. Pete wouldn’t fess up about it, but his buddy told me. Kid’s birthday is coming up, in case you’re interested.’

-Happy

Tony pushed aside his brief surge of anger to let out a scoff at his old friend’s oh-so-subtle suggestion. Who did Happy take him for? He knew when Peter’s birthday was, thank you. And ‘in case he was interested?’ Jesus. It was like the man barely knew him. Or maybe, that he knew him too well.

So it was the most obvious thing in the world to present the kid with a new StarkPhone a week and a half later, with a card that leaned way more funny than cheesy, just to be on the safe side.

It was fine, perfectly fine, but he noticed something.

While the kid had of course thanked him profusely, with a stammer Tony hadn’t heard in a while, but he also seemed oddly tense for a few moments afterwards, quiet and unsure of himself. What was up with that? He filed it away mentally, determined to put his keen observational skills to actual productive use.

Much later, after combing through a frankly alarming number of online behavioral health journals (what? He was going to do this right), he finally found information that seemed relevant, and tested out its possible connections to what he knew of Peter’s background and home life - which by now was quite a lot. He’d been thorough in his researching of odd, powerful persons to approach back during the split.

Huh. That made so much sense he felt dumb for not having put it together himself.

The idea was that when you gave older kids or young adults expensive gifts, under discreet observation, their behavior afterwards tended to split into different basic categories, heavily influenced by their backgrounds.

Some, especially those who’d already lived in some higher degree of wealth, got used to pricy gifts and came to expect them (no shocker there). Others, not used to it and often coming from much lower-income backgrounds (namely those living in less-regulated areas in terms of crime), grew nervous at being gifted with lavish items, and displayed behavior of trying to determine what they were expected to provide in return, in the most disturbing sense (fucking hell, young adults and older kids?! He left a reminder to himself to make a donation to… whatever branch of law enforcement that was meant to help those kids. Better yet, rather just tap into their scanners and, ahem, help out on his own. Less red tape on his route to justice. And yes, fuck the Accords on this. Just better remember to use the quietest and least flashy suit.). Finally, most others fell into a category of showing a lower, subtler degree of anxiety, out of more general sense of indebtedness that they sought to avoid or balance out - also often from middle to lower-income backgrounds, though generally not as extreme, or dangerous.

Houston, we have our under-privileged teen. The only exception that he was aware of was his special academically-intense high school - and that was only through a city scholarship.

He knew better by now than to bring up any of this with May. She wanted good things for Peter, but she’d never accept what she’d consider to be charity.

He let out a deep sigh. So, the phone would definitely be the peak of what he’d give the kid for a good while in terms of dollar value at one time. He wouldn’t even bring up that college fund, not until he was sure Peter was secure in the knowledge that Tony wouldn’t hold it over his head. And what’s more, Tony himself actually knew better than to be hurt at having to wait for that certainty to develop - he’d be a total hypocrite otherwise, considering how much Howard had held over his head.

He was bettered prepared, now. What he’d given lip service to when he’d called Peter at the start of that damn ferry incident, he was committed to now. 

He would be better.

********

Just his luck then, that his new unspoken personal rule would be put to the test relatively shortly after. 

The kid was doing so well in school, and balancing all his other stuff so effectively, and being far less reckless on patrols, even remembering to call Tony through Karen BEFORE he ran into the burning building to save that family, just in case (even though just remembering it still made Tony nauseous with worry). Tony was so, so proud of him, and simply itching to reward him with something for all his hard work - because for the longest time, that was the only way he knew to show what he felt. 

But he knew better now than to give the kid something pricy enough to make him uncomfortable. So what was his happy medium?

Imagine his surprise when Peter himself (with May’s help) handed him the answer.

Turned out, the approaching end of academic year was also one of the artistic performance seasons, which meant school concerts. The larger main groups (band, orchestra, choir) had done their concerts last week; May had attending Peter’s band concert (clarinet - a respectable, but under-appreciated instrument).

However, it seemed there was a second, hybrid concert this week that she had to work during: a showcase, she said, for the smaller and more advanced groups to each contribute a piece high-lighting their skills and artistry. Tony was interested in attending just to see that, even without the reward factor. So when Peter shyly brought it up the next day, he was quick to affirm yes, he’d love to go. They could stretch the evening out and get ice cream afterwards. He might have promised May he’d record it on the down-low for her to watch later.

So on the designated evening, he chose one of his less noticeable trouser-jacket sets, got Happy to drop him off in a discrete car like a normal da— mentor (pointedly ignoring the man’s smirking in the rear view mirror), an chose a seat near an outside isle in the back half of the auditorium (didn’t want to put the kid on-spot by inviting weird questions more than necessary). After kids in the earlier performance slots finished, they were free to quietly join their families in the audience.

Settling in his seat, Tony perused the program handed to him by the parent volunteer at the doors, after she did a double-take and squinted at him suspiciously, clearly not quite believing what she was seeing. The advanced orchestra would go first, then Peter’s group (actually a mix of kids from the concert, marching, and jazz bands), then the chamber choir - which he was pleasantly surprised to find Peter’s Decathlon captain / friend Michelle was participating in (alto). He got kind of a chuckle out of the idea of the delightfully salty, skeptical, and detached young woman doing something as mainstream as singing in a school choir. Seeing the lights dim, he settled himself more comfortably and watched the first group file onto the stage, a small smile on his face.

The orchestra’s piece turned out to be pleasantly unexpected - an all-string and percussion arrangement of Danny Elfman music? Inspired. And he happened to know that shit was not easy to read or perform.

Some people who only knew him somewhat would think he was completely limited in his musical tastes. And yes, while for purposes of designing, developing, and simply tinkering with his tech he’d be a classic/hard rock man until the day he died, he could certainly still appreciate other forms of music, especially classical. As an engineer, he liked being able to hear all those complex layers of coordinating sound. There was a dedication behind that precise sort of artistry that he could really respect.

After the orchestra accepted their applause and trooped off stage, he sat a bit forward eagerly, a much bigger smile plastered on. He was a proud school-dad, damnit, and he wasn’t ashamed. He enjoyed the hybrid-band’s medley of 80’s “dream rock” numbers (in which Toto’s “Africa” was centerpiece, because obviously) every bit as much as he’d expected to, was a tiny bit sad when it finished, and clapped louder than anyone in his immediate vicinity, throwing in a cheering whistle or two on top. No solos for his boy Peter, but you can’t have it all - and it might have been just a tad cliche, anyway.

While he waited for the two groups to switch places and for Peter to join him, he occupied himself with taking another look at the program. The choir was performing two shorter pieces, the first of which was an a cappella arrangement by someone called Kentaro Sato… “How Do I Love You”? Huh. Not the Browning poem?

He was briefly distracted when Peter popped up beside his seat. Tony patted the seat next to him, smiling hugely and clapping the kid on the shoulder, with quiet but enthusiastic congratulations as the choir finished setting up. The lights dimmed again, and the audience hushed as the choir director raised her hands. The students began with low, soothing, and close harmony. And… *

Yep. It was that fucking Browning poem. And in seconds, it was already easily one of the most gorgeous pieces of music he’d ever heard in his life.

Let me count the ways…

It was ridiculous. Even though the lights were down, even though he knew no one was focused on him, with the (his) kid right beside him, he suddenly had a tense, inexplicable sensation of being pinned in place. Like on some other plane, everyone was staring at him, judging him. Wondering what the hell he was doing in this high school.

…To the depth, breadth and height  
my soul can reach

Reminding him that he really didn’t deserve this remarkable young person at his side. 

…To the ends of being, and ideal grace

The remarkable young person who had somehow, unconsciously, begun leaning into him, dark eyes already getting glassy at the beauty of the sound washing over them.

Fuck.

…To the level of every day’s most quiet need

He was suddenly having to put in more effort to draw breath.

…Freely, as men strive for right

It wasn’t his right - not with something this obvious and intense.

…Purely, as they turn from praise

He wasn’t Peter’s father or uncle, as much as that was just starting to pain him. And yet he couldn’t stop his arm from coming up around the boy’s shoulders.

Now let me feel your arms around me

Waiting for him to tense, to throw him off. But amazingly, he didn’t.

…With a passion put to use  
in my old griefs, and with  
my childhood’s faith

Peter leaned closer into him, head coming to rest against his shoulder - and just like that, he was done for. The students on staged blurred.

…With a love - love I  
seemed to lose  
with my lost saints

He was almost fifty years old, for Christ’s sake. There was no reason to feel this vulnerable - like he was back on that floor and Obadiah was about to yank the arc reactor from his chest.

How do I love you?

He felt Peter’s closer arm come up to wrap around his own shoulders, and fought not to let out a sudden sob.

…With the breath, smiles, tears  
of all my life

There was nothing for it. He threw the last shreds of his composure to the wind, and brought his free arm up across Peter’s front, clasping his fingers together on his far shoulder, truly and completely holding him. Rested his now wet cheek on his son’s soft hair.

And if God choose…

He suddenly, bizarrely had the impulse to track down this Sato person. Anyone who clearly knew how damn much he loved Peter was dangerous. That’s all there was to it.

********

They picked up the unassuming car where Happy said he'd parked it. They got their ice cream at a mom and pop drive through, both wearing shades. They only spoke of inane things; flavors, sugar vs waffle cone. They didn't need to say anything else. When Tony dropped Peter off back at his apartment and walked him up, May startled when she saw their still rather red and puffy eyes.

“What happened?” Tony passed over the recording.

“Nothing,” he replied flippantly (the effect would have been more convincing if his voice wasn’t still just a bit froggy). “The concert was great. Terrific. Pete was great! But just as a thought, we might want to look into whether those choir kids are enhanced, or using some kind of alien tech. They’re way too good at influencing minds with their voices.”

“Absolutely,” Peter agreed, sniffing. “Way too good. It’s suspicious.” 

Tony rested his hand on the young hero’s shoulder one more time before wishing them both goodnight. The kid knew what was up.

He was smart that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear in mind that the behavior stuff I bring up in this chapter is purely speculative theory on my part; DO NOT QUOTE OR CITE ME ON IT (not that I think you guys would). It's just strings of thought that came out of a couple episodes of L&O: SVU and more general observations / assumptions about real life.
> 
> All that being said, I've got to tap out on this one, at least for the time being. The second part of the other one will hopefully come soon; school comes first (in theory). It's been wild.


End file.
